


from the surface to my bones

by officiallylexie



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-16
Updated: 2013-06-16
Packaged: 2017-12-15 03:53:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/844992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/officiallylexie/pseuds/officiallylexie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis doesn't like change and he's not big on sharing, but Zayn is easy and all his.</p>
            </blockquote>





	from the surface to my bones

It's really cold, is the thing.

It's a late night, probably around three in the morning. Louis isn't sure, stopped watching the clock when he let the couch cushions swallow up his small body. 

He's got a blanket draped over his ankles to his toes, not over his body because it's scratchy and it doesn't have the familiar smell that Louis is used to.

He considers wrapping himself in it, letting it warm him up, but he doesn't want to. 

He's got one of Zayn's hoodies on that he snagged off of the floor when he climbed out of bed, deciding he couldn't sleep. It hangs off of him, but that's alright because it smells like Zayn and it's keeping him warm the best it can. Just warming the surface, though. 

It's something to put on and it's comfy, that's all. 

He starts to wonder if maybe he stayed in it for long enough, it would swallow him up and become his shell -- his protection from the cold, outside world that's already taken so much of him for themselves, passing around the bits and pieces Louis allows them to have like they don't belong to anyone, like they don't have a home.

But Louis has a home, and that's with Zayn. That's okay. 

The nights are like this sometimes, Louis staying up all night because he can't sleep. He's constant worry and thought, crowding his mind and sinking into all the crevices and Zayn doesn't ask.

But he knows; Louis just hasn't come to terms with it yet.

Sometimes, Zayn will find him lying on the couch, asleep, and carry him into the bedroom again, holding him close until morning. They don't talk about it when they wake. Zayn doesn't question him about anything, why he can't seem to sleep through the night. He just understands and Louis is thankful for that.

\-----

It's nine in the morning and Louis still hasn't slept. He's sitting at the wooden table in their kitchen. It's quiet except for the chair squeaking when he moves. 

He's got a cup of tea that he's resting his hands on, letting it warm him up from the surface only. Zayn's still asleep and Louis knows he'll stay that way for a while, so he just lets his small body crumple up in the old chair.

He takes a sip of his tea, it's hot on his tongue and burns a little, but Louis doesn't mind. It warms his throat as he swallows and he can feel the warmth settling in his chest. It's not as warm, or comforting, not like he knows sleeping with Zayn is, feeling his warm, gentle fingers under whatever piece of Zayn's clothing Louis' wearing that day.

But that's okay. 

\-----

It's somewhere around noon when Louis sees Zayn stumbling into the kitchen tiredly. "Morning," he says, voice laced with sleep and a certain familiarity that Louis has to smile. 

"Afternoon," he answers. He's exhausted, really and he can feel it in his heavy eyes and the warm, empty sensation in his stomach from lack of sleep. 

Zayn doesn't ask how Louis slept, or how long he's been up, he just gives Louis a knowing, sympathetic smile, makes himself a cup of tea that's gone cold from sitting out too long and Louis wonders how he does it.

He wonders how he can just accept without questions, or trying to butt in. He's just easy, and Louis supposes that's why he loves him so much.

He's tired of answering questions and spilling the details of his life and Zayn seems to get that and that's what makes him so rare. So special.

"Let's go for a walk," he says and Louis only nods, looking up at Zayn apologetically in which Zayn returns with a shake of his head. 

\-----

England is busy on afternoons like these. Louis has his hood on over his head, hiding his tired face from the world's watchful eye and hoping that nobody recognises him. And even though he's sure nobody will know who they are, he can't hold Zayn's hand or wrap an arm around him because there's somebody watching. 

There's always somebody watching.

"It really bothers you, doesn't it?" he hears Zayn say and Louis doesn't even have to ask what he's going on about because he knows. He can sense it in Zayn's gentle tone.

He just shrugs though and Zayn sighs. They never talk about it, but Louis knows it's been on Zayn's mind from time to time. He's just never said anything. 

He hears Zayn pull out a cigarette and smells it when he lights it, takes a long hit and exhales the bitter smoke into the cool, crisp air.

He assumes the subject has been dropped, and Louis is glad because he's not sure he would be able to talk about it just yet. You never really know the damage a wound holds until it stops bleeding. 

\-----

They have an interview later that day and everything goes as expected, as the world is used to seeing.

Louis' a little shaken, a little on-edge by the time he gets home with Zayn. He feels exposed and empty, like the world has taken everything he has to offer. He feels like an object. 

He lets Zayn pull him into the bedroom, lie him down on the bed and crawl on top of him. He doesn't protest when Zayn starts to pull their clothes off, kissing every inch of skin he reveals on Louis' body.

"Fuck, Zayn -- I need --" he whispers because he needs to know he still has something to himself that the world hasn't taken away and sold to the millions of people with money.

"I've got you," Zayn murmurs and shushes him gently with a chaste kiss to his lips and he _knows_ and that's enough for Louis. 

He's so caught up in Zayn's kisses that the next thing he knows, Zayn's got three fingers pushing in and out of him, deep and unrelenting. He's moaning and begging for Zayn, feeling like he could drift away if he weren't here, if he didn't have him holding him down. 

"Good?" Zayn asks and Louis nods, whimpers at the emptiness when Zayn pulls his fingers out. 

He doesn't have to wait long until Zayn's pushing the head of his cock into him and he can't help but moan and shake because it's so good and so familiar and only for him. 

The world doesn't see this part of them. This is just Louis and Zayn and it's comforting.

Zayn is thrusting slow and calm into Louis, fucking into him at a leisurely pace and Louis is moaning and scratching his nails down Zayn's back as a reminder of what's only theirs. He doesn't have to share that either.

"Fuck, Louis," he hears and Louis smiles lazily at the strained tone to Zayn's voice.

He isn't' smiling for long, though, because Zayn picks up the pace and starts slamming in and out of him quickly. It's all so much, but not enough at the same time until he feels Zayn hit his prostate and he cries out, "oh, fuck -- yeah, right there."

His needy fingers are pressing into Zayn's skin hard enough to bruise, but Louis knows he won't mind, knows he likes being claimed just as much as Louis likes claiming. 

The room is quiet safe for the sound of skin slapping and their constant moans. Outside, the sun is setting and the moon is taking it's place, waiting for the right time to cast down on the earth. 

He's sweating and whining with it, each thrust bringing him closer to coming until he's reaching a hand down to pump his cock in time with Zayn's thrusts. 

"M'close," he hears Zayn say and he only nods, pumps himself with a little more intent. 

"Want you to come," he murmurs, moaning as he feels the familiar feeling in his stomach. "Come on, wanna feel you."

That's all it takes apparently until he feels Zayn's hot release leaking into his body, filling him up with the one thing that the world doesn't know about. 

He pumps himself a little faster, whines pathetically as he falls apart under Zayn, wiping his hand on his chest. 

"I love you," Zayn murmurs and pulls out, lying down beside Louis, arm open until Louis cuddles into him. They're sweaty and they smell like sex, but it's them and Louis wants to savour that, let it seep into his skin and stick there. 

"Love you too."

\-----

The next night is different. 

Zayn goes to sleep earlier than usual and Louis doesn't try to go to sleep, just stays on the couch with the remote in his hand and a book sitting on the table that he never had time to read, always too busy.

He stays like that for a long while before he gets up and makes his way into the bedroom, looking down at Zayn with a certain fondness in his eyes that's only for Zayn, no one else.

Zayn's wearing his grey hoodie and his hair's messed up in that cute way, something Louis knows he wouldn't allow if he were awake. He's got stubble on his face with his arm outstretched and Louis doesn't hesitate to cuddle into his familiar embrace.

He's warm and comforting, familiar and Louis'. The fabric of his hoodie is worn out, making the material softer against Louis' cheek. He's breathing in Zayn's scent and he smells like smoke and the woodsy cologne he wears. 

The world doesn't see this part of them. Behind closed doors, something entirely different goes on and it's comforting to know that Louis still has this part of his life, that the camera flashes haven't worn away all of the bits and pieces. 

He gets like this sometimes, when it's early in the morning, late in the night and his thoughts are jumbled and mismatched until Louis can't see anything but the darkness when he closes his eyes to let sleep swallow him whole, only to spit him back out come morning time. 

But lying here with Zayn is easy and relaxing, warming him all the way to his bones and that's all he needs to fall asleep a bit more peacefully, sleeping through the night and well into the morning -- the good kind of change that he can tolerate. 

\-----


End file.
